


The Runners' Keeper

by tweedleboobsmcgee



Category: The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-05
Updated: 2014-04-06
Packaged: 2018-01-18 05:55:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1417666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tweedleboobsmcgee/pseuds/tweedleboobsmcgee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Maze Runner from Minho's pov, beginning two years ago.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Lots of OCs, hopefully realistic, and all MY interpretation so if you feel strongly about yours then I suggest maybe pressing the back button  
> First published fic ever, no beta reader atm but I would love one so if any of you readers out there would like to be a beta reader please comment. Also I will erratically post chapters so I'm really sorry. Kudos and comments are much appreciated. Relationships wont show up until way later btw, and those and the ratings are fluid. Thanks and sorry!! It may seem a bit rushed because i obviously dont want it to be as long as the book and i guess it just goes over some stuff that happens prior to the book? Finally, If there are any mistakes, PLEASE TELL ME. Enjoy.

 

     He woke up slowly. It was dark enough to make him think his eyes were still closed, but he realized that it had just been the lack of light. The air was stale, and though he couldn't see, there seemed to be other beings--people- inside, with him. From the sounds of it, they were waking up too.

       Metallic grinding noises filled the dark and whatever he was sitting on shuddered to an abrupt stop. Judging from the several yelps, others felt it too. Just as he was beginning to stand up, assuming that the thing he was on had stopped, the ground moved up with a jerk. More metallic noises; chains? He was in some sort of really big elevator, he mused. His hands reached out to meet a cold, metal wall. 

      The other people in the lift, whatever it was, seemed to be waking up with the harsh movements. He hesitated, then shrugged and called out carefully, "Hello?"  

      There was a complete moment of silence, then someone replied. "Uh, hi?" He almost snorted, the reply was so ridiculously normal in the obviously abnormal situation. Plus it had a slight tinge of an accent. Several other voices piped up, some alarmed and some scared; mostly, they seemed to be asking questions. 

    "Anyone know where we are?" He called out again. 

    "And who," the voice said again dryly. "Well, I know my name is Newt, but not much other than that. You guys?" 

    "The name's Minho. Probably." He -Minho- wasn't sure how, exactly, he know that. He just did. He couldn't seem to remember anything else. There was something awfully wrong with that. He could remember basic, generic things; bacon and eggs, a pool, biking, people in a city. 

    But there was nothing else. Nothing about himself, his family, his last name, how he'd even gotten there. His mind was eerily blank.

   All the talking and murmuring ceased as another big jerk sent them sprawling out on one another. Apologies and "watch it"s filled the air but then everything fell silent. Then a large clank as double doors that were the ceiling slid open. 

    There were some cries as the sunlight blinded the inhabitants of the box-? Minho covered his eyes and then let them fall as his eyes adjusted. 

    It was the sky. Blue, cloudless. It should have been sometime during the day, but he couldn't tell, due to the fact that there didn't seem to be a sun.

    A quick glance around the box revealed to him that the people were other boys and there were a few smaller boxes of what appeared to be supplies. All boys. Not a girl in sight.  And they were all teenagers. No wonder the air seemed to stink. It was about a dozen or more, all different races and sizes. Made him wonder what he looked like, for a second. Then he dismissed the thought because, fuck if it mattered now. He didn't even know who he was. 

    One of the boys, a guy with longish blond hair was looking around too, and met Minho's gaze. Awkwardly, Minho gave a half wave. He seemed relieved, and gave a quick smile. 

    A dark skinned boy who'd been standing already and apparently had already gotten his bearings, strode over to one of the walls of the box. He looked over at the blond boy, and gestured for him to come over. "I'm Alby. Nice to meet you. Now gimme a boost." The blond boy blinked, seemingly surprised at the abrupt request, but obliged. "Newt. Nice to meet you too."  

    Minho turned to his wall, and surprised himself by making a running jump and managing to grapple the edge. He climbed smoothly out, confidence a bit bolstered by his apparent physical capabilities. He leaned back over to help some of the other kids up.

    The others climbed out and helped the other ones too. After pulling the last one, a real hairy guy, out, he stood to finally observe his surroundings.

    They were in some sort of giant, courtyard, a few football fields long, made up by giant stone walls that seemed to be growing ivy. They looked a few hundred feet high, and created a nice square, each side splitting in the middle, and opening to other passages. The floor was stone blocks, grass and weeds popping out from cracks. There was wooden building standing in a corner, and a few trees, then in another corner there were pens of a few animals; sheep and a few pigs and cows. The next corner had a grove of trees, and the other an empty plot of dirt. Altogether, it made for an impressive and slightly odd structure.

    "Holy hell," A scratchy voice said. Minho silently agreed. That seemed to sum things up for the most part.

    The talking began again, but then a tall guy stood and told them to shut it. He had a shock of brown hair, and a reassured, confident air that he seemed to wear easily. 

    "Anyone know where we are?" Everyone shook their heads. His eyebrows knit together over thoughtful, light eyes before he continued. "Me neither. My name's Archy. I can't think of anything else at the moment, any of you shanks?" Again, the shaking of heads. 

    A cheery voice piped up, "What's a shank? And what kinda weird ass name is Archy?"

    Archy snorted. "Shut up. It's my name, and that's all I know. Everyone else know their names?" They all nodded.  _They looked like fucking bobble heads_ , Minho thought. _The ones you stuck in cars._

    They begin to call out their names one by one. Other than Minho himself, there was Newt, the accented blond, Alby, the dark skinned kid with cropped hair, Archy, and eleven others. Gally, the guy with the scratchy voice and black hair. Probably a heavyweight douche nozzle, Minho figured. There was Zart, a big dude who was kind of quiet but could probably snap a spine with as little effort as lifting a cup. A guy named Winston, another two named Jeff and Clint. More guys, Nick, Ed, Leo, Siggy, and John. The guy who'd asked Archy what a shank was had been Vincent.

    Minho looked around, familiarizing himself with the people there. They all seemed to range from twelve or thirteen to sixteen. Fifteen of them, total.

    After they finished introducing themselves, they fell silent once more. Minho could tell they were thinking the same things as him, asking the same questions. Who were they? Where were they? Who'd put them there, and why? His brain, at least, was storming with demands for answers. 

    And as his brain also gradually noticed, nobody, including Minho, could come up with a single answer for any of them. 

    As soon as it did, a strange feeling came over him. It grew in intensity, even though he couldn't explain  _why_  he felt it. It washed over the entire group like some weird disease of an emotion.

    It was the feeling of fear.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They future-Gladers get settled for their first night in the homestead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did say I was going to be erratic about this. Again, sorry for any grammar mistakes, and if you want to be a beta reader that would be AWESOME. Kudos and comments are wonderful.  
> For the setting, I did sort interpret it weird but okay. I hope the OCs are working out.

 

   A nervous air of unease fell over the group. Then, everyone began talking at once, frantic, bewildered. It grew louder and louder til they were almost trying to shout over each other. Minho felt the panicking feelings seep into his stomach.

  "Shut up, you idiots!" Minho's head snapped up at the yell, and the group fell silent again. Archy stepped forward. "Look, I know just about as much as you guys do about this, but I can tell you for sure that panicking like a bunch of jackrabbits isn't going to help." Some of the kids nodded.

   "Who died and made you queen bee?" Gally snapped. Archy looked over. 

   "Figured that heads are gonna roll if someone doesn't take charge. And anyways, it doesn't have to be permanent, or a one-man thing. Far as I can see, we're all in the same boat. But you did bring up a good point. Are you shanks alright with me? I'm just gonna help make decisions and see that things are going okay. With all your input. A ref, I guess."

   There was muttering, some contemplating, then Siggy said, "Good that," and everyone else started nodding. Minho just shrugged. Archy seemed like a decent guy, and probably an alright leader.

   "I also think we should scope out this place, to see if there's any other people, or anything we should watch out for. Alby, Newt, Gally, Minho, you guys come with me to check it out. The rest, sort out the stuff in the shucking box we came in. Don't take any of the stuff til we get back. Good?" Minho blinked. Why him and the other three? It seemed odd, but the other guys were either just to confused still, or just didn't care enough to protest or question. 

   "Good that."

   The groups split up and headed off towards their own places. Minho sauntered after Archy, accompanied by the three other guys.

   The walls were halved, definitely. There were weird patterns on the edges of the walls that opened up to the split. On the left edge, deep holes from the ground, all the way up, bored into the stone. The right edge, rods jutting out, in the same pattern. As if the walls were meant to close together, somehow. As they came closer to the strange gap, they could see past it. There were passages leading to the left, right, and straight ahead. They were the same material as the four walls, and the ground was made up of the same blocks.  The entrance looked strange too. Why three passages branching from the beginning? Minho shrugged, and kept walking.

   They passed by a short, concrete building near the box. It had a big, iron door, with a wheel handle. Gally stepped right up, and with some effort, turned it, and pushed the door opened with the frankly gross sound of metal against metal.

   They stepped in, looking around. It resembled a prison, with a simple, tiny barred window, and a simple wooden chair. One-room. Minho resisted the urge to shudder at the thought of being stuck in there with nothing but his thoughts. They exited quickly.

   After exploring a bit more, they passed the plot of dirt. After digging with his bare hands for a few seconds, Newt found pipes, streaming water into the dirt. Gardens, then. By the other end, the pen and barn. A little past, there was the wooden building that seemed to be falling apart. They looked like living quarters. They held a kitchen, rooms, bathrooms. The grove Minho had seen earlier was fronted by some dead looking trees and crappy benches. They'd guessed wrong. There was no other living human being in the entire place. The knowledge settled something fiercely unnerving in him.

   They returned to the Box, -yes, capitalized because it should be,- in front of which supplies were being organized neatly. There were several changes of clothes for each of them, blankets and sleeping bags, some preserved food like jerky and some gross processed canned stuff, and packets of seeds. There were also some digital watches, with just the time written on their faces, four pairs of running shoes, and a separate box of metal tools; hammers, nails, a freaking plow, garden hoes, and scarily enough, knives. There were canteen sort of water bottles, and again, four, backpacks. Huh.

   The clothes were handed out, according to size, and then Archy packed away the running shoes because, he said, they might be useful later on and there obviously weren't enough for everyone. They all got some food and a watch. The five who'd gone exploring explained and described what they'd found; well, Archy, Alby, and Newt did most of the talking. Minho and Gally just dug into their food.

    The sky was darkening and they all sat around, some talking, most eating and thinking in silence. Minho too. He was puzzled. Why was he there? Why were any of them there? Obviously to start some sort of weird opposite-of-the-Amazons-camp, because there were no females in sight. Besides, why go through the whole effort of building this place for fifteen lousy kids? Minho was intelligent -if that sounded any less conceited than it did in his head- and he could tell. This place was built for their survival. But, weirdly enough, there were walls. Giant, freaking, stone walls. Why isolate them?

   Minho groaned. This was driving him insane. It was alright, though. Mostly. The fact that there were fourteen other kids, some his age, some older and some younger, in his exact same situation, made him feel, ridiculously, not so alone. He didn't know any of these guys. But what Archy said earlier was true. They were all in the same boat.

    His thoughts were interrupted by a big boom, then a gravelly, grinding noise. It was stone. It took him about half a second to put it together.

   The walls were moving.

   It took him another five seconds to wrap his mind around it; the huge, giant, freaking, solid, stone walls were moving.  _Moving_. He stood, shocked. The ground was shaking, and the walls were closing. Closing. Locking him in, trapping him. He felt claustrophobic for a brief second, then he pushed the thought away.The right walls moved to the left, the rods fitting in the holes. Then the gaps closed in all four walls with a final echoing booming noise, and Minho shuddered. The stupid slabs of rock moved. Who'd have guessed?

   The other kids were alarmed, and some had stumbled over in the shaking. Archy calmed them down, before looking at his watch. Minho looked up. The sky was dark, probably nighttime. Time to sleep, he guessed. 

   "I'd say quit running your shank mouths, but that was really something." His voice was steady, though, and he let out a short laugh. "Guess they're gonna open again tomorrow, if that means anything. And this is probably where I should give you shanks a pep talk.

   "Look, even though I don't know any of you, I think we can all agree that we are in the same boat. I wasn't kidding earlier. And since this place looks alright for living, I think we can last in here. I don't know why any of us are here, but I figure that if we wait and get ourselves settled, busy ourselves with things to do, it'll seem right quick till someone comes and send us off back to our homes. Fact is, we'll probably get back so fast we'll start missing each other." -a laugh- "We can start planting the stuff tomorrow, set up jobs for everyone, and maybe when the walls open up again, we can go outside. Maybe we can find our way home. In any case, don't worry your shuck heads about it. It'll work out." He spoke confidently, and Minho could tell the pep talk was definitely working. The whole group was nodding already, looking less scared. "In the meantime, grab a sleeping bag and your stuff; Zart, take a few guys to move the stuff into the ol' shack here." Zart nodded, a group of guys picked up the supplies and headed into the wooden building. The rest followed.

   Inside, there were a few rooms, including the kitchen and bathrooms, and up the stairs, two more. It was pretty small. Archy suggested using the top floor to sleep in, seven to each room. One of the kids asked if they should take watch, and Archy said he'd take first. 

   Minho set his sleeping bag down in a corner. By the window, Archy pulled up a tiny stool and sat. The rest in the room was the other three who'd gone scoping today, plus three others; Vincent, the small kid who looked probably the youngest and unnaturally cheerful, blond curls bouncing, giant blue eyes. He looked like a freaking doll. Or a five-year old. Minho felt some sort of a little pang at that. He seemed so, so young. Leo was a little more withdrawn and a little more mature, and had a look on his face that could probably murder someone. Siggy rounded up the bunch, and Minho remembered helping him out of the box. Nobody could forget all that hair.

   Turning his attention back to the rest, he saw Newt and Alby muttering to each other, cracking a few grins. Minho snorted to himself. Any shank, as Archy had put it, who could smile in this situation was probably an idiot or insane. Archy didn't seem like an idiot, or insane, but you could never tell. 

   Minho sighed to himself. This all just seemed incredibly surreal. Maybe his brain just had a hell of an imagination. Maybe he was doing drugs. It didn't seem likely, but always possible. If that was the case, he'd underestimated his own brain big time.  _Or maybe_ , a voice in his head snapped,  _this is real and you ought to suck it up._  

   He considered it. He really did. Then he told the voice to shut it, and flopped down. Whatever was going on, someone would find them. Something would happen, lead them out of this stupid place. It was probably a huge mistake. Minho tried to believe that he wasn't being naive, but something told him he was meant to be here. He belonged there, was put there for a reason. He squeezed his eyes shut and willed his head to shut up. Thinking sucked. He turned to Archy to distract himself.

   "Hey Archy," Minho said quietly, under his breath so the others wouldn't hear. "Earlier today, why'd you choose Newt, Alby, Gally and me to come looking around with you?"

   Archy just blinked at him. "You look smart."

   Minho stared, stunned at the idiotic reply, before Archy cracked up. 

   "I'm just pulling your shucking leg, you dumb shank." Minho glared, but without heat. "Well, mostly. You and the other three look sensible. Reasonable, at least." He gave Minho a wink. "I'm a good judge of people, I think."

   Minho snorted. "You're humble. But thanks. I guess."

   Archy flashed his teeth in the darkness. "Anytime. Now get your shuck ass to sleep. Got work to do tomorrow."

  Minho's eyelids were already getting heavy. "Just one more question."

   Archy rolled his eyes. "What?"

   "Do you really think we'll get out of here?" Home seemed like an impossible thing. He couldn't imagine it.

   Archy fell silent for a few seconds before replying in a softer, gentle tone.

   "Yeah, Minho, I really think we will."

   Minho blinked sleepily.

   "Alright. If we don't, remind me to beat your ass." Archy laughed quietly.

   "G'night, Minho."

   "Night, _shank_."

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first Greenbean shows up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Character death. Not major at all. just warning ya shanks. It's a little more Newt/Minho in this chapter, sorry guys. Unless you were looking forward to that. If they're a little OOC, it's cuz i figured they became the way they are today AFTER some shit went down, like they wouldn't cry now. But i guess i figured they would, when they first came.  
> Again, any grammar mistakes, tell me! im still looking for beta readers? Enjoy.

 

    Minho stood up, brushing the dirt off his knees. He willed himself to not cry. But then again, he might have been in too much shock to do so anyways. He looked over and saw Newt's wet eyes, Archy and Alby stony-faced. He heard Vincent sniffling in the back, and Leo shushing him halfheartedly. The rest were either crying or trying not to. 

    His fist clenched in anger. This shouldn't have been happening. Minho's vision blurred with tears, and he saw red. Rage coursed through him. He swore loudly and stormed off. This was never supposed to happen. 

    He heard the footsteps, but he didn't stop. he couldn't. Not after this. He was afraid that he would hit someone. It was Archy, he knew it. The stupid shank. He'd promised. And now it was too late. He kept walking. Minho knew if he stopped, he'd most definitely beat Archy up. And Archy wouldn't fight back. 

    "Minho, wait." Damn him. His voice, soothing, coaxing, apologetic. Minho resisted the urge to turn around and sock him in the face. He settled for slapping off the hand that came to rest on his shoulder.

    "Minho." How could he be so calm? "I know you're angry, and you've got every right to be. But, just, just hear me out. Please."

    He desperately wanted to. He wanted to hear that it was just a joke, and that they had a solution, that the shucking Creators would put Johnny back wear he belonged, let them out of this klunkhole. But he knew that he wouldn't hear it. So he couldn't listen. 

    "I can't. Sorry." Minho hated how his voice sounded. Thick, with emotion. Weak. He hated all of this.

    So he did what he did best. He ran. He ran past the trees, the stupid benches, past the stupid Homestead, past the shucking walls. He ran straight into the Maze, not stopping to break off the branches. 

    When he got to a dead end, he slumped down, sitting. He put his head in his hands, and sat, till his breaths evened out. It was okay. It would be okay. It was okay.

    Like a mantra, it soothed him, till he was numb. Till he couldn't feel anything.  _This wasn't supposed to happen._  He kept repeating it in his head, as if it would make this all a bad dream.

\--

   It was their second week. By then, Archy's weird slang stuck. At first, Archy just assigned Siggy to the kitchen. Zart and Alby as the Track-hoes, Gally and Ed as the Builders and occasionally Bricknicks. Jeff and Clint became Med-jacks, Winston was a Slicer, Nick was a Bagger. Leo was a Slopper, and Archy helped him out sometimes. Newt, Minho, John, and Vincent were the Runners. They were assigned when they'd figured out that the gaps in the walls led to mazes. 

    It was just Newt and Minho in the beginning, then John, who proved his worth when he sprinted across the Glade as quick as lightning, to help put out a fire. He was quiet, but smart, and had the wittiest comments. Then, as unlikely as it seemed, Vincent. 

    Vincent was sort of excitable and couldn't sit still for his life. All he'd do was ask questions, run around, laugh at one thing or another. Still, he had the extremely useful talent of being likable. He'd climb things, hang upside down on them, play innocent pranks. He didn't run, he flew on those tiny feet of his. He even freaking played with the beetle blades, the weird lizardlike creatures sent by the Creators to watch them. He could never catch one, but boy, did he try. 

    The runners were given the special shoes, the backpacks to hold their water and lunch. They'd go out into the maze, avoid Grievers, the strange, dangerous monsters that looked like weird blubs, then come back and sit in the Homestead and draw out what they found on paper.

    They realized by the third day that the mazes were moving, and by the end of the first week, that they were never the same. They began drawing out the maps after that, and Archy asked Gally and Ed to help build a room where they could store and draw the maps. They were still working on it.

    Of course, they'd tried other ways to get out; sitting in the Box, climbing the walls. The Box wouldn't budge until the kid came back out, and the walls were obviously a failure. Someone suggested digging under, but the ground was rock too, so that was pointless.

   They'd discovered the Cliff a little while after, and almost fell off, -Newt had been running so fast-. They couldn't leave that way either. 

    So, for a week, they'd worked hard. They had hope. Archy's words would be true. Even Minho was sure. 

But everything changed in the second week.

\--

    The third day, night was falling, and John hadn't returned. They just figured he'd sprained his ankle, or maybe he was walking his way back. Either way, it wasn't a huge cause for worry. But Archy got anxious, so Newt and Minho left to go find him. They figured that it'd be more dangerous during the night, so they refused to let Vincent go.

    Minho and Newt ran out to the South Door, Johnny's post. At first there was nothing; they just kept running, cautious. 

    Then, they almost barreled into a Griever. And Johnny.

    Minho, who'd been running behind Newt, grabbed Newt and pulled him back, and they both peered around the corner. 

    Johnny was lying there, writhing in pain. Unconscious. Newt cursed, pressed against the stone wall by Minho's arm. The Griever did its thing, where it rolled up and moved forward like the piece of sludge it was, and the mechanical arms and knives started clicking and whirring. And it started to dig in on Johnny. It was mesmerizing, in a horrific, disgusting way. Minho turned away, resisting the urge to throw up. Horror, disgust, shock, and fear filled him from head to toe, paralyzing him.

    A part of him wanted to help Johnny, told him that they could still save him. But another part of him told him that it was impossible, and they had to run.

_If not for me, for Newt. I have to make sure Newt doesn't get hurt._  He couldn't think of anything else at that moment, so he pulled Newt, trying to drag him away.

    Newt twisted, trying to get out of Minho's grasp. He turned to Minho, infuriated.

    "What the hell are you doing? Let me go! We have to save him! He's going to--" Minho reached over and clamped his hand down on Newt's mouth. Minho leaned over, hissing in his ear, words he knew he'd never forgive himself for.

    "We can't save him. He's gone, Newt. Newt!" He shook him. "We have to get back, the walls are going to close!" 

    Newt kept struggling for a few seconds, then slumped limply against Minho. His body shook, and Minho knew without looking that Newt was crying. Strangely enough, Minho couldn't feel anything. It was as if Minho wasn't really there, his body was moving on autopilot. Everything that happened after that was muted, a blur.

    He slipped his arm around the other guy, they ran. They ran, faster than they'd ever run before. They slipped past the walls just as the boom sounded, and the grinding noise sounded, the walls closing. 

    Newt stumbled and sat down, hard, crying. Minho  fell to his knees next to Newt. He wrapped his arms around him tightly, shushing, and resting his chin on top of Newts head, rocking them back and forth, a little frantically at first, but then slower, as Newt's sobbing grew slower.

    Vincent and Archy, who were waiting by the wall, hurried over. He vaguely heard them asking him something. But Minho still wasn't there. He didn't respond, and Newt couldn't either. He heard Archy telling them it was okay, and if they were hurt, or needed water, or anything. Minho just shook his head and held Newt tighter. Minho felt Newt's shuddering lessen till he was just hiccuping. 

    Newt pushed Minho's arms away, and Minho automatically let go, wrong as it felt. He felt Newt standing up, and pulling Minho up with him, Archy helping guide Newt into the Homestead, and leading him up the stairs. 

    Newt's warmth disappeared, but then it was replaced with Vincent ducking under Minho's arm and helping him up too. 

    The last thing he remembered was falling asleep on the sleeping bag they got him.

\--

    Minho's shoulders shook, and he leaned back, curled up by the wall.

    During the few days after Johnny died, Minho remembered Newt hating him. And feeling like he deserved it. But he couldn't apologize. He couldn't apologize, not when he couldn't be forgiven. He wouldn't be forgiven.

    Minho also remembered the other Gladers being shocked. One of them had died. Did the Creators not really care about them surviving? It posed all sorts of new problems. Minho couldn't be bothered to care.

    Archy had tried to talk to them, both. But Minho couldn't find it in him to reply. Newt probably couldn't, either. He thought he could remember Alby patting Newt on the back, after talking to him. He could remember for sure, Newt trying to talk to him, and telling him he forgave Minho. But Minho just shook his head, called him a piece of klunk slinthead, then turned and ran. Then he felt bad about it. But Newt hadn't understood that Minho didn't want to be forgiven for what he did because who could forgive him for something like that? Especially when, Minho knew, he wouldn't take back the action if he could. 

    They'd made a gravestone in the Deadheads, for Johnny. Their first dead Glader.  _We should get some sort of medal for him_ , Minho thought. Then hated himself for it. He was sick. He couldn't cry, not now. It was like he was all dry of emotions and tears. 

    Minho heard footsteps, but didn't look up until he saw the shoes. Newt. He glanced up. Newt loomed over, like some weird British skyscraper.

    "Get up, ya shank." Minho didn't respond. Newt sighed.

    "You can't mope here. We're all crying. I'm not going to save your klunk ass if you get stung by a Griever." Minho winced, then stood.

    "Low blow." He muttered, before shutting up. He was already making jokes about Johnny's death. Great. Newt looked away.

    "Look, Minho." Newt scuffed his toe of his shoe against Minho's. "I get that you probably don't wanna talk about Johnny. But," Minho opened his mouth to ask if he knew, then why exactly, was he talking about it, but Newt smacked him.

    "I'm talking, ya shank. I want you to know." His eyes softened. 

    "I forgive you. For stopping me. Because you were trying to save me. It doesn't make it any more right, but I know that you did it for me. So... thanks. You shucking moron."

    Minho stiffened, then relaxed. A wave of a mixture of emotions washed over him. He felt grief, for Johnny, guilt, for stopping Newt from saving him, and yet, impossibly, there was still room for a happy feeling that he honestly could not, in any way, excuse or explain, at the fact that Newt forgave him. He looked down.

    "Sorry," He said, voice cracking. "I'm a slinthead." Newt rolled his eyes, and gave him a tired smile. 

    "Damn right, you're a slinthead. Now chin up, let's get--"

    He was cut off by a nasty, blaring, clanking noise, like an alarm. 

    After a few minutes, it stopped, but Minho could still hear it ringing in his ears. He grimaced.

    A few seconds after the alarm stopped, a breathless Vincent ran down the path, skidding into both of them as he tried to stop. He was breathing way too hard to talk, but he spoke anyways, panting..

    "You guys have to see this." Minho glanced at Newt. Newt shrugged, just as bemused. Vincent gasped for breath, then talked again.

    "The Box-- it came back. It's got-it's got a new kid."

    Then he passed out. 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Talks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um, I'm probably gonna be gone for a lil bit after this, school. But i'll be back soon. And don't get attached to any of the characters who don't show up in the book, please. :) Sorry for grammar, please enjoy. STILL LOOKING FOR BETA READERS? anyone? that would be awesome.

   Carrying an unconscious Vincent on his back, complaining, Minho, accompanied by Newt, arrived just as the group of kids were finishing pulling out what seemed to be supplies, from the Box. Minho blinked, confused. Then his eyes fell on the center of the crowd's attention. It was a boy. Minho laughed. He sounded like one of those pregnancy doctors. _'Congratulations! It's a boy!'_ Who was he kidding? It was obviously a boy. It had to be. Who'd send a girl into a group of guys? 

   In any case, he looked like a boy. A kid. Likely fifteen. A little shorter than Minho, but pretty tall. Lanky. Light brown hair, a confused, desperate sort of look that kind of struck a chord of familiarity in Minho's chest. It was a look he'd come to know well.

   Still carrying Vincent, Minho and Newt approached cautiously. Alby, Archy, and the rest of the Gladers were asking him questions. If he remembered or knew anything. The kid just shook his head before saying his name.

   "Lou-Louis. I think." He threw another bewildered look at the rest of the group. "What's going on? Who are you guys?"

   Minho frowned. What was going on? A replacement for Johnny. He scoffed in disgust, realizing it must be true. So the Creators didn't really care about them individually, just as a group? That what, fifteen people made it in, fifteen people made it out? They probably had a lot of backups, too.

   He turned away, not wanting to watch the charade any longer. Besides, he had to go put Vincent in a sleeping bag. Kid deserved some rest. He nodded to Newt, who looked torn between talking to Archy and Alby first. Minho snorted, then headed to the Homestead.

   He quickly dropped off Vincent upstairs, went down to raid the fridge while Siggy, who earned his name Frypan, was distracted with the whole new kid business. After that, he went back outside to go run Vincent's section of the Maze. Vincent hadn't finished before Johnny's pathetic funeral and they couldn't afford to lose even a day. Besides, Johnny wasn't there either, he still had to cover his part.

   While he was headed to the West Door, Vincent's job, Archy caught up to him.

   "Hey, hey. Minho." He looked over. Archy was smiling hesitantly, like he wasn't sure if he could do this still. "Have you met the new kid?" Minho shrugged.

   "Nah. I'll meet him soon enough, right? Maybe even start calling him Johnny as a nickname. Maybe after that, we'll find a way out of this shucking place." He snapped, not meaning to come off so harsh. Whatever. He meant every word.

   Archy's face twisted in guilt. Which made him feel a little bit worse. Or better. He couldn't tell, at this point. Not like it shucking mattered anyways.

   "Look, Minho. I get you're upset. But this has got to mean something, right? We aren't here just to, to get killed by Grievers. We're here for some, some dumb greater purpose, thing, that we have to figure out." Damn. He still sounded so hopeful. Convinced. Minho wondered maybe if grief made people idiots. Or power.

   "Yeah, sure, shank. Look, I gotta run Vince's part of the Maze cause the little slinthead is catchin' some Z's, so I'll talk to you when I get back."

   Archy frowned, looking like he was going to put a hand on his shoulder. Minho was glad for both of their sake's that he thought better of it, 'cause he felt like he'd rip off his hand if he had. That probably wouldn't settle well with either of them.

   "Hey, wait." Minho groaned. It was like the shucking dude just couldn't stop trying to have a heart-to-heart.

   "Archy? Do you ever get tired of hearing yourself talk?" He grumbled. "'Cause I sure do." Archy rolled his eyes.

   "Nah, bud. That's what makes me so popular. Can you just imagine what I sound like singing? This voice is to die for." They both laughed, but it was kind of empty.

   "I just want you to know I didn't lie to you, the first night. I still believe we'll make it out."

   Minho sighed inwardly. This smelled like worse bullshit than Frypan's meatloaf. Whatever. _It's all the same when you're digesting it, right?_

   "Maybe--maybe not today. Or tomorrow. Or for the whole week. But someday. Whether that's in the near or far future, I don't know. But I swear, I will give my all in trying to get you and every other shank out of this klunkhole." Minho just stared, and gave what he hoped was an appreciative smile and not the sarcastic one he felt.

   "And I'm really sorry. About Johnny." The words were genuine, no matter what he'd felt earlier about Archy's stupid glass-half-full speech.

   "Not your fault, shank." Archy gives a grateful smile, pats him on the back. 

   "Good luck on your run." He watches Archy jog back to the Box.

   He'd meant it when he'd said it wasn't Archy's fault. Sort of. It was true, technically, anyways. Yet, somehow, it felt so easy to slap the blame onto him.

 _For what?_ His brain asked. _For saying that we'd get out? Or for giving you hope? The hope that you couldn't wait to gobble up the moment he set it down on the table?_

   Huh.His brain seemed to have that same quality that Archy did. The one that never shuts up. Or tries to get honest about his feelings. 

   Minho knew it was because Archy had "given him hope", or whatever. But he also couldn't help but find that the fault also was his, yet again. He'd let Archy plant that hope, he'd let himself believe too.

   Shaking his head, he willed the thoughts away. He couldn't do this. Not now. Especially this early in the day. He had too many things to think about already. He had too many things to do, as well. He needed to clear his head.

   So he ran.


End file.
